Free Destiny Wears Spurs by Kari Lee Harmon

her in on day one.
    Somehow, she’d held her own. Dammit, he deserved the promotion more than she did, and by God he’d find a way to make it happen. He was smart. He’d gone to Harvard on an academic scholarship, and he’d handled plenty of accounts, unlike Monica. The only advantage she had was Hammond as a last name.
    He would make a few calls, pull some strings, and make things happen. Glancing at the Rolodex on his desk, an idea hit him. He knew exactly what to do, and Monica would help him dig her own grave.
    * * *
    “Mornin’, Cookie,” Cody said to the cantankerous old cattle ranch cook as he strolled into the cookshack. He tossed his Stetson on the long harvest table as he slid onto the bench.
    Festus jumped a foot, like he’d been branded on the backside with a hot iron. The cook’s real name was Festus, but the boys called him Cookie to annoy him. He enjoyed the bantering, but he’d sooner eat a two-headed snake than let on.
    He jerked around, scowling, and his long, white beard swung in the breeze. His lined face crinkled into a lopsided grin when he saw Cody. “Land sakes, boy. I didn’t recognize yer voice. Ya gave me quite a fright.” His grin slipped, and he wiped his hands on his apron. “You startin’ on the spruce up?”
    “Nah. Not sure what I want to do yet.” More like “can’t make the place look too profitable,” but he hadn’t told anyone the whole truth about his deal with Hammond. No one but he and Hammond knew the deal was phony. That alone should tell him what he was doing was wrong, but he owed the man. And he knew if his old man were alive, he would have done the same.
    The cook stopped fidgeting with his apron and stood a little straighter. “Not sure what to do? If’n ya ask me, it’s a no-brainer. This place needs work from the tackroom to the toilets, sonny.” He shook his head. “Whatcha doin’ here? It’s a might early fer vittles, ain’t it?”
    Looking away from the curiosity he saw in the cook’s eyes, Cody shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted to get an early start.”
    Festus snorted.
    Cody had come to breakfast early to avoid any more ribbing from his men. He couldn’t tell them what had happened in the barn. Monica was mad as a hornet that he’d yelled at her. You couldn’t pay him enough to stir up that nest any more by telling his men she couldn’t handle her job.
    “I’ll rustle up some coffee and start them vittles.”
    “Take your time.”
    The cook waddled out the door, making a beeline for the ancient chuckwagon. Cody grinned. Taking in the sparkling modern kitchen that never got used, he chuckled.
    Normally, they only used the chuckwagon when on the road, like during roundup, but Cassie had outfitted it with all the newest gadgets for the dudes. Cookie had taken a shine to it. Cody’s grin slipped. He thought of all the things his ranch lacked compared to the newer, bigger dude ranches popping up all over Colorado. Rooms twice the size of his cabins, with all the latest amenities like high-definition, flat-screen or plasma TV’s, hot tubs, twice as many excursions and more ranch activities. Better horses, bigger herds, more help.
    The list went on and on.
    Based on his income, there was a definite market for people interested in small-town atmosphere, cozy cabins, and country charm. But he wanted to progress with the times. Spread the word that Rafferty’s Remote Ranch was a dandy place to be. He should write his own damn slogan. It sure as hell couldn’t be any worse than the ones Monica had come up with. She frustrated the heck out of him most of the time, but he had to admit, she made him laugh. She was the only one around who refused to take orders from him.
    The cook returned with a pushcart loaded with steak, eggs, toast and coffee. The mouth-watering aroma set Cody’s stomach to growling. “That oughta do it. Think I’ll join ya.”
    “Help yourself.” Cody dug into his meal with gusto.
    “What’s this I hear about some